


Gallinarius

by y0neen



Series: Stardew Valley [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drunk Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, NSFW, Slow Burn, So much angst, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 23:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12994800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y0neen/pseuds/y0neen
Summary: After her grandpa's death, Lyssa left her cramped cubicle and rundown apartment behind to live on his farm. It was a rash decision, but an easy one. What she thought was a solution to all her problems dropped right into her lap--well, a blessing and a curse. Lyssa was very close with her grandpa. There's a memory tucked away in every nook and cranny. Losing him was hard on her. But damn, he'd made tending the farm look so easy. With too many blisters to count, and unhealthy coping mechanisms following right behind her, will Lyssa be able to stick it out?





	Gallinarius

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This is my first time ever officially posting any fanfic! Wow, dang! I love Shane so much. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Cry with me! :')

###  _"Unbroken, unscarred, back ain’t weak, hands ain’t hard. It’s the first night in town. Our first night in town, rain comes down, bridge goes out--the same way it always did."_

A lazy toad croaked in the distance as warm rain drip-dropped along my skin. The sun was setting and the sky was a hazy, greying purple and the air was so humid that it felt like cotton candy in the back of my throat. My grey t-shirt clung to my sticky skin and the sickle slipped out of my slick, blistered hands for the fifth time.

Without even bothering to hoist it back up, I threw my head back and closed my eyes. I’m not really sure how long I stood like that. There were weeds to cut and animals to feed, but at least the rain made it so I didn’t have to water the obscene amount of melons that I’d decided to plant--not that many of them even looked edible. The leaves had holes, the fruit looked wrinkly, dirty. And I wandered to my grandpa’s grave, where I kept his note wedged under a loose stone on the shrine. 

_Wait for my return at the dawn of your third year._

Yeah right, if I made it past the first year it’d be a miracle. The words in front of me blurred, and I couldn’t really tell if it was tears or the rain, or if I even cared which. Would he still want to see me if I was a worthless? I thought I’d made the right decision, coming out here. The air was crisper. The grass was thicker. The clouds felt closer. There was a warm memory in the niftiest nooks and crannies, around every cobblestone corner. 

Moments passed as I stared out among bending trees and patches of grass and rickety buildings. Absentmindedly, I tucked the note away and hoisted myself up, trudging toward the barn. There was an indent in the grass where I’d left the sickle, but I ignored it and pushed the wooden doors open. 

“I should really repaint this building,” I mumbled to myself as the two cows inside lifted their heavy heads to greet me. 

After I dug around in the back for some hay, which was looking pretty slim, I plopped it down into the trough and left. I was too tired and the pail was too far and I needed a drink. So, without looking back, or even wandering in for a change of clothes, I headed to the saloon with what little cash I had in my pocket. 

 

“You look pretty tired, Lyssa,” Emily said with her palms flat against the wooden bartop. “And wet.”

I didn’t really remember getting through the door, or sitting down for that matter. I’m sure I was getting a few stares. But Emily was as bright as ever, like her hair--as blue and tousled and frizzy as it was. The sound of billiards cracked across the vast room, followed by the sound of laughing and incoherent yelling. My gaze roamed towards the noise, then up to Emily as I slouched forward and rested my cheek in one hand. 

“What? Oh yeah. Guess you’re right.”

“Here, take this clean towel and dry yourself off a bit. I’ll pour ya’ a pint. Pale ale?” She said, placing a blue hand towel down in front of me. 

I picked up the cloth and nodded, rubbing my face into it first before patting it along my arms and pressing it into my hair. No doubt my hair would dry all flippy at the ends, and frizzy. I sighed into the piece of fabric once before draping it over the bar and looking around. Mayor Lewis furtively glanced away when I turned, but Marnie waved and smiled that warm smile of hers. Pam was unresponsive. Everyone else seemed to be doing their own things. The sound of glass tapping wood pulled my attention. Emily grinned once then drifted down the bar to chat with Clint, who’d just walked up with flushed features. One hand looped into the handle of my mug and lifted, then I threw my head back and took a long pull.

That first sip hit the spot. Well, it wasn’t so much a sip as it was a chug. A good quarter of the pint was gone, and I set the glass down with a heavy thud. Every muscle in my arm was sore. Every muscle everywhere was sore. I ran fingers through my wet hair and looked up, catching eyes with Shane. He was peering at me from his broody corner, eyes just above his own pint glass. A smirk found its way to my features, snaked its way across my lips. He tilted his glass, took a swig, and averted his gaze. So I did too. It was rude to stare. Though, he hadn’t said much to me since I’d move into the valley. He was one of the few less talkative ones. It was kind of nice. 

I took another drink, then another and another. I thought about all of my grandpa’s record books tucked away in a closet back on the ranch, and how I hadn’t cracked a single one open yet. I thought about the wilting melons and the makeshift tappers I put on my maple trees. At least I was trying, right? Was I trying? Lifting the mug for another sip, I realized the glass was empty. 

“Oh,” I grumbled. 

Gearing up to flag Emily down, I straightened my back and stretched my arms above and behind my head. But the sound of footsteps along creaky floorboards grew closer and closer. Was someone really approaching me right now? Of all times? I couldn’t help but grimace, turning my face slightly to see who it was. 

It was Shane. His glass was empty too. 

“You don’t have to order another one by me, you know,” the words came out of my mouth before I could even think about them.

He just stood there, deadpan for a few seconds as he set his glass down, and shrugged. Shane’s forearms rested at the edge of the bartop, gaze turning to meet mine. A stifled laugh escaped his lips. With one arm extended, he waggled his fingers at Emily. She flounced over and asked: “Another round you two?”

“Yeah, on me,” Shane piped up before I could say anything. 

I was left with my mouth agape. 

“Really?”

But he didn’t respond to me. Emily set down the glasses and gave a content nod before scurrying over to Gus to help him with something he was yelling about at the register. 

“Cheers,” was all he said as he lifted his frothy glass to mine. 

“Yeah, cheers,” I mumbled, brows furrowed. 

We both took a few swigs. Shane settled on the stool beside mine and traced patterns on his glass for a little while. I drank, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He looked tired. Almost as tired as me.

“So, are you gonna say anything while you’re sitting there?” I asked, finally. 

The sound of the crackling fireplace filled the air, dancing with the upbeat music that never seemed to change. Though, the combination of the two were doing little for my mood, even if I did have fond memories of slurping spaghetti at the bartop as a kid while grandpa knocked a few back with Gus and Mayor Lewis. None of that mattered now. I rubbed my eyes a bit, turning to face Shane a little more. My cheeks felt warmer. 

“Have you given up yet?” He asked, earnest, unsmiling. 

“Given up? What, on the farm?”

Shane pursed his lips and gave a quick nod. 

“No.” My answer was flat as could be. 

“Well, you look it,” he said. 

My beer was already almost finished, and so was his. 

“Well, you look like you’ve just given up in general.”

“You’re not really wrong,” he laughed after his blunt response, then went on, “Do you want another one?” 

Looking down into the empty pint glass, I twisted my lips to one side. Shane waited without a word. The sounds of cracking billiards had stopped. The chatter had died down. Emily was giggling at the other end of the bar, again. I thought about my sickle still in the field, the long grass pressed down beneath its curved shape as rain pelted along the dull blade, and the sparse, haphazard hay in the barn, and the sunken-in melons, and the note wedged between two stones on the bench grandpa and I used to sit on. He’d disappear into the orchard and come out with two barely palm-sized apples, soft and sweet. “ _Perfect size for you, munchkin_ ,” he’d joke, almost every time. I’d scowl at him, kick my feet out, feed bits of apple to Hero the barn cat and giggle at how orange his fur was. When we’d finish our apples, grandpa would hoist me up in his arms and help me down, and Hero would trot along side us as we checked on all the crops. Hero died not long after grandpa did. 

I pushed the empty glass a few inches away from me with one finger and stayed quiet, eyes focused on the countertop. 

“Up for a shot of whiskey?” I asked.

“Depends on the whiskey,” I could hear the smirk in his response. 

“Jameson?”

“Sold,” he said.

When I glanced over, he was downing the last few sips of his beer and waving at Emily. Raising her brows at me as she approached, she took the two empty glasses in one hand and turned to Shane. 

“A couple more beers already?” She asked. 

“Two shots of jamo,” I blurted out first, “And two more beers, please and thank you.”

Now Shane looked at me with two, bushy raised brows, “Well then. I didn’t think you could put em’ back like that.”

Emily stooped down to grab the whiskey bottle from the well, setting out two, squat shot glasses with her free hand. She poured those first, and the golden-amber liquid was filled right to the rim. It dripped over the sides as we each slid them closer. 

“I’ll be right back with the beers.”

I nodded, turning in my seat to look at who was left. Mayor Lewis and Marnie were long gone. It was just Clint, Willy, Pam, and of course Gus. No one was paying us any mind. My gaze lingered on the fireplace, and for a second I was brought back to small bonfires on the farm. It was easier to slip in and out of memories like this, with my cheeks still warm and my limbs heavy and my fingers clumsy. Emily came back with two more pints, which grabbed my attention. Shane was staring at me, brows furrowed, but averted his eyes to the beer when he noticed I was looking back. Emily gave me a wink and walked off. She seemed to understand that it wasn’t a good night to hang around and chat. 

“To the farm,” he said, lifting the glass between his thumb and index finger and bringing it to mine. 

“To Hero,” I responded, clinking my whiskey to his. 

“Who’s that?” Shane asked, pausing. 

“Doesn’t matter.”

He nodded and I closed my eyes, tilting my head back to swallow the shot. When I slammed the glass on the bar, Shane did the same. We met eyes seconds afterward, the whiskey warming my throat, my belly, my toes. A goofy grin, lopsided and languid, lingered on his scruffy features. Had his scruffy features always looked that… Charming? I laughed it off, quiet at first, but Shane’s throaty laughter followed. Soon, we were caught in a fit of belly-clutching, face-hurting, ridiculous laughter, and I didn’t know why. It just felt, well, nice. It was nice. And I didn’t pay attention to any glances or stares. I didn’t care. 

We both settled down eventually, sipped at our beers. Shane seemed to ease into his stool more. I felt loose. My muscles were warm; I’d forgotten entirely that they were sore. I’d forgotten about the sickle and the note and the melons. Right now, it was just whiskey and Shane, and beer and Shane, and the fireplace and the repetitive music, and Shane, and maybe Emily. My eyes fell to the beer cupped in my hands. The chilled glass felt good on my clammy palms. There was a buzzing in both of my temples as the alcohol filtered through me. 

Shane nudged me with his shoulder and I started, letting out a few nervous chuckles as I turned to look at him, his face only inches from mine. His beer was already halfway gone, but so was mine. 

“So, what now?” He asked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for getting through this! I appreciate all of you, and AGAIN hope you enjoyed it. I plan on updating every two weeks or so! I work 6 days a week, so I'll try my best. This is a good way for me to kinda unwind, and brush up on my writing skills all at once. Any feedback is welcome! I'd love to read what you thought about it! Anyway, stay tuned!


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